


Qualms Before a Storm

by orphan_account



Category: Doraemon (Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluffy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words hurt, and Nobisuke's words were Suneki's chronic pain. Suneki never thought that Nobisuke would realize the impact one remark could have. He certainly never expected Nobisuke to apologize while kissing him on a bed in the middle of a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Qualms Before a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This was fairly new for me. I had to study a lot on depression and sociopathic tendencies, which makes sense in context. Nobisuke is canonically abusive toward Suneki, and I, being a piece of trash, wanted to dig more into the actual psychological aspects. I and my friend headcanon Suneki as having both self-image problems and depression, and Nobisuke . . . well, there's too much to say for that child. 
> 
> Although this is third-person, I wrote from Suneki's limited perspective. Some things are exaggerated and seem worse or more negative than they would actually be, simply because this is his viewpoint. That, and kids are inherently dramatic.

The teacher's voice seeped through the room in a murmur. The hum sifted through Suneki's mind, milling with his other thoughts but never making sense. Suneki shifted at his desk, lifting his knees to press his heels against the floor. His wellingtons squeaked. A couple of kids twisted to look at him. Suneki felt suddenly tired. He didn't spare the effort to glance back.

Every thought limped like a crippled dog. Jostled through his head single-file but broke apart before Suneki could understand. He curled his fingers over the smooth top of his desk and shook his head to clear the mist that clouded his eyes. His earrings jangled like tiny bells, tolling the death of his will to be in class at all.

His eyelids felt like stretched canvas. Heavy and scratchy. The urge to rub at his eyes came. Suneki stared vaguely at his hand. It didn't move. It remained resting on the desk, the fingers furled over the crude drawing of a bird that someone had cut into the desk years ago.

It felt as though his ears were plugged with cotton. Teacher's explanation of improper fractions was nothing more than a drone. Suneki blinked until his eyes stung and squinted at the chalkboard. The formulas printed in Teacher's careful hand swirled into a blur.

With a deep breath that made his ribs creak, Suneki leaned his head against his shoulder. His hands felt cold and numb. He closed them into fists that only felt colder, and let his eyes sink shut.

He didn't know how long he had dozed when Teacher's sharp voice cut through the quiet. Suneki started with a jolt, and one of his knees banged against the bottom of his desk. He sucked in a breath, and looked at Teacher through the water that glazed his eyes.

"Honekawa," Teacher said, more gently than before. "You weren't paying attention again. Our exam is in three days, and this review is essential. It's better to listen now than regret it later."

Suneki slouched, his coat bunching up in the small of his back as he slid down. His breath clogged in his throat and his heart tightened as though it were squeezed by a ghost. His pulse throbbed in his forehead, and a chill made his fingers quiver against the desk. Every pair of curious eyes in the room was aimed at him. Pinning him. He swallowed. He could practically hear the thoughts behind those looks: _Poor Suneki. He's so stupid. When will he ever learn?_

Teacher turned away, and the gazes of the children reluctantly followed. Suneki tightened his shoulders to keep from shivering.

He felt little concern for the lesson and the upcoming test. It seemed to be a blur, an event taking place on some other planet. He decided that he didn't care if Teacher strode up and dropped a stack of failed tests on his desk right now. All he wanted to do was sleep. He slowly leaned forward, all his joints feeling creaky and old. He dropped his elbows onto the desk, cupped his chin in his hands, and struggled to stay upright.

Something rustled at his elbow. Quietly at first, then more urgently. Suneki forced himself to open his eyes. He squinted. A crumpled square of paper lay wadded on his desk.

He raised his head and glanced around at the rows of students. Everybody's attention was focused on Teacher, except for that of two. Nobisuke stared at him with his eyebrows lowered in annoyance. Giachibi looked on, his frown weighing down his face with concern.

Nobisuke jerked his head toward Teacher, scowled, and mouthed, "What's your problem?"

Suneki suddenly felt like crying. He shook a little as he retrieved the piece of paper, his fingers trembling as he unfolded it and smoothed out the creases. In an angry, scratchy penmanship was scrawled, _Something's wrong with you. Worse than usual. Talk after class._

He snuffled and scrubbed his sleeve over his face. When he glanced over his shoulder at Nobisuke, he saw that the tight, dark scowl on Nobisuke's face had softened. Suneki slowly turned around to face Teacher.

It seemed that the hour dragged on for years. Teacher's voice was a continuous hum punctuated by coughs and the pecking of chalk against the blackboard. The students were one restless body: shifting, sniffling, snickering, scooting about, swinging legs, squeaking chairs. Finally, after a particularly forced-sounding sneeze from Nobisuke, the bell jangled. Children exploded into action as though shot from cannons, snatching backpacks and vaulting out of their desks. The students flooded like a milling ocean toward the door and boiled out into the hall in a chaos of shouts and giggles and clattering footsteps.

Suneki moved his legs to dangle them over the side of his chair. He stared down at his knees for a minute, twisting his foot from side to side. Tingles exploded like fireworks, right down into his bones. _Who called this pins-and-needles, anyway?_

A gray shadow washed over his legs, blotting the orange glow of sunlight and the twinkles of drifting dust motes. Suneki raised his head to peer through his forelock. Once his eyes focused, he sucked in a breath that scorched his throat.

Nobisuke towered above him, his arms locked over his chest and his face a screwed-up mask of a glare. His scowl mashed his cheeks into lumps and narrowed his eyes into ugly slits. Giachibi stood behind Nobisuke, looking tentatively over Nobisuke's shoulder.

"What's your deal, Suneki?" Nobisuke's voice was a tangle of tones, up and down in the same sickening cadence of a mother tersely scolding a child in front of company. The words pushed out of the corner of Nobisuke's mouth, eerily quiet, and fell with all the force of bombs.

Suneki tried to swallow, but his tongue felt as dry and stiff as a chunk of cardboard in his mouth. His heart pounded against his ribs, rattling them like chinaware in a cabinet. He crossed his ankles and drew his legs under the chair, rolling the toes of his wellingtons over the floor.

"Nothing's wrong," he said at last. "I mean . . . I don't know. Nothing. Nothing to worry about."

Nobisuke bent forward until his nose loomed inches from Suneki's. Suneki leaned back involuntarily with a sharp breath. When he inhaled, he smelled the flowery breeze of fabric softener that Aunty Shizuka always used. Somehow, the mere memory of the warm firmness of Aunty Shizuka's arms around him, and her clean floral scent filling his head as he leaned into her, made Suneki's chest tighten. Before Suneki could bite his tongue and blink, his eyes blurred and his throat closed up.

"Suneki," Nobisuke said, "you've been mooning around like a dying dog lately. And I don't like it." He swung out his arms, grabbed at the front of Suneki's blouse, and jerked him closer. Suneki sagged by his collar from Nobisuke's fists, hovering above his chair. He pressed his knees together, balancing lightly on his toes. He stared into Nobisuke's face, paralyzed by the chilling intensity of his snarl. He felt like a mouse hunkering in front of the open maw of a grinning snake.

"You're going to get in trouble if you don't shape up," Nobisuke said. The warning stung as it escalated in volume. "Why don't you just cut it out? You're going to––"

"Nobisuke," Giachibi said, cupping a timid hand over Nobisuke's shoulder. "Nobisuke, l––leave Suneki alone. Yelling won't make him feel any better."

Nobisuke wrenched around, yanking Suneki with him, to dislodge Giachibi's hand. When he leaned into Giachibi's face, it seemed that he grew five feet taller. Giachibi shrank back, squeezing shut one eye in a cringe.

"Don't tell me what to do. You've seen the way he's been acting." Nobisuke straightened his thumbs and clutched Suneki's shirt tighter. "It's making me sick. Moping around all the time. Nobody likes a crybaby."

"I'm not a crybaby," Suneki said. The whisper was so quiet that even the fluttering of leaves brushing against the window was louder.

Nobisuke froze, his hands locked like twin vises around Suneki's shirt. He lowered his head and glared at Suneki as though he expected him to burst into flames at any second. Nobisuke tightened his jaw until it cracked loudly. He didn't flinch. When he spoke, his voice was icy and measured, and quivered with force.

"What . . . what did you just say?"

In spite of his protest, Suneki's eyes flooded. Nobisuke blurred into a streak of red and black, shimmering as though underwater when he moved. Suneki swallowed, and the taut fabric of his shirt sawed into the back of his neck. His face burned, prickling with a fire under his skin that crept from under his collar up to his cheeks.

Nobisuke glowered. His forehead creased, and wrinkles bunched in rows under his eyes to pinch them into slits. He flexed his fingers around Suneki's shirt, squeezing until his knuckles popped like hot chestnuts. Without a word, he lowered Suneki to let him sink gently into his seat. Suneki sat like a clod, winded, his legs spread awkwardly and his arms limp at his sides. His coat slid down his shoulders to pool around his elbows, the silk lining rustling.

Nobisuke leaned back, pressing his arms against his chest and sliding them into a locked cross. He stared at the floor, stewing in a silent rage. Giachibi cowered behind him, looking miserably at Suneki.

"Come on, Giachibi," Nobisuke said through clenched teeth. He pivoted on the heel of his sneaker so quickly that the rubber squeaked and left a black streak on the linoleum. He stormed out of the classroom, stomping as heavily as a moody elephant. Giachibi followed a few wary steps, cast a pitiful glance over his shoulder at Suneki, and reluctantly trailed after Nobisuke.

Suneki listened to the sticky smacking of the footsteps fading. Their voices sounded faint and wavery as though echoing through an empty cave––Nobisuke's tense, angry voice, and Giachibi's weak pleading one.

The deafening pounding of Suneki's heart jogged his breath from his chest, making him feel like a limp wet bag. He sagged forward and pressed his hand lightly over the ridges of his ribs in case they should break. He sat this way, hunched over like a gargoyle, for a long time.

Sunlight poured through the thick trees outside, sending orange dancing over the wall in shifting patterns. A chilly dry breeze gusted down from the vents, rattling like a granny with bronchitis. The cold air numbed Suneki's bare shoulders and teased his hair into ruffles that tickled the back of his neck. Suneki jammed his heels against the floor and tightened his back to keep from shivering. The breeze uncurled from about his shoulders like a bored cat and swirled over his desk. Paper rustled, and one crumpled scrap skimmed over the desk and floated to the floor.

Suneki stared. The paper bared its violently scrawled words: _Something's wrong with you._

Suneki reached up to scrub the heel of his palm over his face with such loathing that he nearly scoured off his freckles. His cheeks began to sting, and he raised both hands to cover his face. He curled his fingers into his forehead, digging his nails into the skin hard enough to ache.

 _Why_ am _I such a_ cry _baby? Nobisuke's . . . Nobisuke's_ right. _There is something wrong with me._

The thought fell into his mind like a raindrop into the ocean. No impact. No heartrending realization. Suneki had distinctly sensed it already.

He picked up the paper and crumpled it into his backpack. He wondered why it suddenly felt heavier.

* * *

By the time Suneki returned home, the sunlight filtered pale and languishing through the rustling leaves. Clouds tumbled in soggy gray lumps through the sky. When the breeze whisked past Suneki to tweak the end of his coat, it left behind the sticky, muggy scent of rain.

Suneki dragged his backpack along over the sidewalk. The nylon made an interesting scraping sound over the cement. Despite the brewing storm, Suneki saw no reason to rush home. He meandered with all the distant unconcern of one milling through the fog of a daydream. As he walked, he stared down at the scuffed toes of his wellingtons.

He plodded through the door almost before he noticed. The door slid open, more like a shimmery film of water than solid glass. Suneki glanced up in surprise, and squinted in the glare of the skylight.

"Is that you, hon?"

The voice nudged Suneki from his reverie and made him turn. Papa strolled into the parlor in a breeze of mint cologne and cinnamon and dishwater suds. Swiping his hands dry on a towel, he smiled invitingly.

"Well? How was school today?" Papa said. When Suneki eased by, Papa stepped to the side, the heels of his oxfords clicking against the floor. Papa's smile sank into a troubled frown.

"Kiki? . . . Honey, is something wrong?"

Suneki froze. The feeling in his heart returned; the dull, tight, achy sensation that he were being squeezed. In Papa's quiet voice was concern, rich and thick as caramel. Suneki swallowed, and straightened his back. The zipper on his backpack jingled.

"I'm okay," he said. He flexed his fingers around the strap of his backpack, wondering why his hands were so clammy. "I have a lot of things to study for tonight. Math. I guess I'm just tired."

This explanation didn't seem to satisfy Papa. He assumed what Suneki called the "I'm-getting-in-trouble" pose: one finger bent against his chin, his other hand curled under his elbow, and his weight settled on one foot. He watched Suneki with unnerving intensity. His eyes swept back and forth, noticing everything. Suneki shrank back slightly. Upon consideration, however, he moved forward a few steps, held his shoulders back, and raised his head as though preparing to bravely accept a bullet.

Suneki's neck was just beginning to cramp when Papa finally lowered his arms to fold them against his chest. The tension diffused. Suneki felt as though he could breathe again.

"Uncle Nobita called," Papa said. His eyes, normally as warm as drops of cocoa, were now flat and calculating, as though he were waiting. When Suneki didn't reply, he continued: "He said something about Nobisuke really needing to talk to you about something."

Suneki slouched. He felt as though a fist had just rocketed into his gut and crushed the breath from his chest. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed to sleep, not to fend off Nobisuke's swinging fists and clawing hands.

"Oh . . . okay," Suneki said, struggling to sound casual. He swallowed, but his throat felt dry and gritty, as though he had just chewed a mouthful of hot Sahara sand. He lowered his head, and his shoulders drooped in resignation. "Just tell him that I'll be in my room."

Under Papa's worried gaze, Suneki trudged past. He tromped up the stairs, gliding his hand over the cold banister until the friction tingled. He could feel the burning of Papa's gaze on his back until he turned, skimmed down the hall and skirted into his room. Without bothering to take off his boots, he deposited his backpack on the floor, stumbled past the piles of clothes and scattered toys, and collapsed like a corpse onto his bed. The sheets billowed around him, fluttering like wings, before settling gently against the mattress. Suneki took a deep breath. The flowery scent of freshly washed blankets funneled into his nose, and he sighed as he rubbed his cheek against his pillow.

He felt safer in his room. It was a shell around him. White; not stark or antiseptic, but clean-looking and bright. Rows of glass windows looked to be scenic city paintings arranged on the walls. Suneki's eyes shifted from one corner of his room to the next. He stared at everything, but noticed nothing, his mind too full of slogging, tumbling thoughts and worry.

It was quiet. From downstairs, he could hear the splashing and rattling of Papa's washing dishes. Every so often a glass cup would clink against the dishwasher rack.

Suneki inhaled deeply, and felt his ribs creak around his lungs. He watched his chest rise and sink under his flimsy blouse. His breathing was steady and deep, almost as if he were asleep.

He rolled to his side, heavy as a sack of flour, and saw that the clouds were now wallowing in the sky. They sloshed around in a tumult. Faint glows of electricity lit up patches through the mush. The clouds were so black that they seemed to absorb what little sunlight lingered. A couple of raindrops spattered against the window.

Suneki curled his arm under his pillow and squished it against his face. He found himself wishing that Nobisuke would hurry to arrive, as fiercely as he dreaded it. He closed his eyes wearily, and listened to the slapping of raindrops against the roof. The rhythm was soothing; lulling.

Suneki awoke abruptly at the sound of a door slamming downstairs. Wet footsteps smacked against the floor. There came the clicky rustling of an umbrella being shut, and the metallic swoop and clang of it being tucked into the ceramic umbrella stand. A voice muttered, too muffled to understand. Suneki craned his neck against his shoulder in concentration.

"At school, you said?" Papa's voice, presumably from the kitchen, sounded incredulous. Suneki felt his throat close up. "I don't know. Well, his teacher mentioned it, but . . . I'm sure. . . ." A pause. "He what? Well . . . no, I'll talk to him. That worries me. He's up in his room right now if you wanted to see him. But, Nobisuke?" Silence."Be nice. Please."

Suneki could practically see Nobisuke roll his eyes. _Here it comes,_ he thought. Stockinged feet padded up the stairs, making each step creak as ominously as parlor doors in haunted houses.

Suneki swung his legs over the side of the bed and thrust his fingers into his tousled hair to smooth back the flyaway wisps. For some reason, he felt the urge to look presentable. Just as the door opened with a whine of the hinges, Suneki clasped his hands and rested them protectively on his lap.

Nobisuke stood framed in the threshold, as solid and hard as a statue. His arms were clamped over his chest. His eyes scrunched almost shut, looking like shiny little black sequins. Rain pasted his strip of bangs to his forehead and trickled down the side of his nose.

Nobisuke and Suneki stared at each other for what seemed to be an hour. When Nobisuke spoke, his voice was ragged and low.

"I told you earlier, Suneki. And I'll tell you again. Because I guess you didn't exactly get it." Nobisuke reached behind him, splayed his hand over the door, and shut it with a bang. A ripple of fear made Suneki's heart flutter. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. He fidgeted like an ant on hot pavement.

Nobisuke took a step forward, but it seemed as though the one stride stretched a mile and brought him a hairsbreadth away from Suneki's face. Suneki battled the instinctive urge to lean back, but knew that any motion would further encourage Nobisuke. Spit pooled under his tongue. He didn't dare swallow.

 _I'm going to drown,_ he thought. He looked emptily into Nobisuke's eyes. The stare was too hot and intense. The panic that throbbed in his chest deepened, and he finally hung his head, unable to face Nobisuke.

As clearly as if Suneki had admitted it, Nobisuke had won. Suneki kept his head lowered.

"I hope you know," said Nobisuke quietly, in a voice that was frighteningly low and precise and echoed eerily through the room––"I hope you know that you're not doing anything except making trouble. Trouble for Teacher, trouble for me and Giachibi––trouble for your dad."

Suneki flinched under his bangs.

"What are you trying to do, lolling around like your cat just died? Whining and crying and hanging off alone? Is this just another one of your little ways to get more attention?"

A flare of irritation erupted in Suneki, and he lifted his head so quickly that his neck cracked. "I am _not_ trying to get attention. I don't like people looking at me. Or talking about me. You know I hate it. Why would I want it?"

"Why?" As slow as oil oozing in the bottom of a warming skillet, a smile eased up the corners of Nobisuke's mouth. Suneki's blood clotted into jelly. That smile was knowing. Pitying. A latent sort of hunger lurked beneath.

"You know exactly why," Nobisuke said. The smile widened until it creased the bottom of his eyes. "People like you need to get all the attention they can by faking it." He laughed in a couple of quiet puffs. "You sure won't get it any other way."

Suneki wasn't sure whether he breathed sharply, or if Nobisuke only gave him that disgusted look to emphasize his words. All he knew was that, somehow, all the smoldering embers of hope in the bottom of his heart went out like doused coals. For a reason Suneki couldn't understand, Nobisuke's last words made him feel as though he were sinking into a black, churning, ice-cold ocean.

Suneki slumped, winded. Every instance of his mistakes and faults began to clatter down and pile in his mind like bricks.

 _It's true,_ he thought in a daze. _I wouldn't get it any other way._

In his ears hammered the incessant memory of voices, exaggerated into twisting mocking sneers. Some belonged to classmates, but the most prominent and most angry was Nobisuke's.

" _You klutz! If it weren't for you, we would have won! How hard is it for you to kick a ball around, anyway?"_

" _You aren't anything but a goody-goody, are you? I hope you know that you go ahead and suck up from here to the highway, but it still won't change anything. You'll still be exactly the same."_

" _Can't you just try for once? Try to put some effort into something? Just because your daddy's rich doesn't mean you can buy good grades without studying. Or a place on the soccer team without being good at it. If you kick that crutch of money out from under you, what do you have left?"_

The words swirled through Suneki's head in a flurry, ones that he had heard many times before; some in jest, some in seriousness. He reached up, tensing, to press his palms against his ears, to block out the memories. In the silence, the words were louder and angrier, and scrolled in bursts of red against the backs of his closed eyelids.

_Stupid. Whiny. Idiot. Ugly, brat, goody-goody, sissy, lazy, clumsy, crybaby, crybaby, crybaby . . . ._

" . . . Crybaby."

Suneki started at the audible thought, nearly jolting off the bed. His eyes widened. His hands fell, dropping limply back to his lap. In a daze, he stared at Nobisuke, and realized that he could barely see through the frosted-glass glaze of water in his eyes.

"You crybaby," Nobisuke said again, in case Suneki hadn't heard. He snorted in disgust. "There you go again. Crying. You're worse than Giachibi. It's like all you both ever do is cry. Can't you stay dry for _two_ minutes? Give me just two minutes. You little sissy. You––"

"I _know._ "

The interruption was forceful. Strident. It reverberated in the room, a shivering shout that rose to the ceiling and descended again. The echo only made the wobble in Suneki's raw voice more obvious.

Nobsiuke's eyes pinched shut until they were cracks of shiny black in his face. His mouth worked into a tight, drawn scowl.

"What . . . what did you say?"

"I _know._ " Realization glimmered through Suneki's mind, as bright and unmistakable as a summer morning in Alaska. All at once, he truly and doubtlessly did know. And it felt as though his insides froze over. His heart clenched once more with regret, and relaxed as if he had just breathed his last. He was numb. Oddly cold. He blinked a few times. Something hot slid down his cheeks, burning the entire way.

"I _know,_ " he said again. His voice was a swamp of snot and withheld sobs and clogged in his head. "I––I––I know I'm a crybaby. I know I'm dumb. I know I'm clumsy and a sissy and a suck-up and ugly and everything else you've ever called me. I _know_ all that, Nobisuke. So why? Why do you have to keep telling me?"

The question escalated into a shout that made the windows rattle and Nobisuke lean away. His jaw slackened in astonishment, but as he recovered, it tightened and quivered. At his sides, his shaking fingers curled into rock-solid fists.

Suneki saw. No fear made his blood clump or his muscles thrill or his throat dry. He watched Nobisuke's fists as though they were as harmless as papier-mâché. He was exhausted. Something pounded in his forehead. He closed his fingers around his sleeve and smoothed the nylon over his face. The hazy paste of water remained warm and sticky in his eyes.

Nobisuke stood, his shoulders hunched and as hard as boulders. His entire body, from his head to his heels, quaked, as though he were summoning a storm far darker and more powerful than the one that raged outside.

Suneki almost had mustered enough energy to ask Nobisuke to leave. Just as he opened his mouth, the soft words breaking behind his tongue, Nobisuke's head snapped up. Suneki froze. In Nobisuke's eyes shimmered a faint, filmy glow.

"You shut up," he said. His voice held the same intention of the growl of a hungry bear. His eyebrows angled low. Wrinkles bunched between them. "You shut your mouth right now."

Suneki said nothing. He watched Nobisuke tiredly, wondering when he would ever go home. The thought scrolled through his mind in a loop that broke into a thousand pieces when Nobisuke lunged.

He hurtled at Suneki with all the force of a shot from a cannon. The bottom of his varsity jacket whipped behind him, its zipper jangling madly. With his face scrunched into a glare, he swung out one arm.

Suneki had no time to dodge the bowling ball of a fist that piled into his face. Knobby knuckles buried deep into his cheek, crushing the inside of his cheek between Nobisuke's fist and Suneki's teeth. Suneki's head snapped back, his earrings whistling in the breeze. The back of his skull cracked like a gunshot into the headboard of the bed. The board vibrated against the wall with a preliminary thud. Pictures on the wall rattled.

With nothing more than a hiccupy breath, Suneki slid down against the headboard and slumped. His head sagged between his shoulders while firecrackers exploded in vibrant stars through his skull.

Nobisuke stood motionless, the fist still suspended midair, his other arm extended behind him for balance. He glowered at Suneki as though he were nothing more than a worm writhing in mud.

"You keep. Your mouth. Shut," he said through gritted teeth. Every word was punctuated by a ragged, heavy breath. He lowered his arms. "I don't _ever_ want to hear you say something like that again."

Suneki stopped rubbing his tongue against the bruise long enough to gape at Nobisuke. His jaw dropped, and any protests that had been lumping in his throat melted down and smothered him. Weakly, he pressed his hands against the mattress for support and struggled to sit upright. When he looked at Nobisuke, the dam crumbled. His eyes swam, and gluey tears began to ooze down his face.

"I said stop with the crying!" Nobisuke snapped, but catching himself, he softened. Little wrinkles dug in at the corners of his mouth. He clenched his fists, seeming to consider whether to stop Suneki's crying himself. After an agonizing minute, he slowly plugged his fists into his pockets.

"You . . . you can't say that about yourself, Suneki," he muttered. "It's––it's––you can't _say_ that."

A long silence stretched. Suneki played with the hem of his coat, rumpling it between his fingers. Finally, he raised his head enough to see Nobisuke.

"You've said it enough," he mumbled. His gaze lowered. Not, however, before he noticed how Nobisuke jumped a bit and blinked as though he had just been backhanded across the face.

Nobisuke recovered almost immediately and twisted his fists warningly in his pockets. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" When Suneki only hung his head in reply, Nobisuke continued, "Suneki, that . . . those things aren't all true. Not all of them. You just can't say those things about yourself."

Suneki gathered the will to look up. His headache throbbed until gray gobbled up the corners of his vision, and his ears rang like beaten kettle lids. He felt as though he were a doll being jerked from one preschooler to the next; Nobisuke's changes of mind were nauseatingly abrupt, and Suneki felt nothing like attempting to chase down Nobisuke's true thoughts. He just wanted to sleep. Alone.

He passed the back of his hand over his face wearily. "Just leave it alone, Nobisuke. It will be different tomorrow. I'll do something stupid. And you'll say the same old things. Don't bother trying to change it or act like it's not true. You've said it all before, so I know it good enough by now."

"I _hate_ when you do that!" Nobisuke's sudden outburst made Suneki pitch back against the headboard with surprise. Unfazed, Nobisuke barged on: "If you're not crying, you're sitting there just––just constantly downing yourself! That's my job, Suneki. _I'm_ the one who gets to make fun of you. You can't actually believe that stuff. It's––it's just different if you say those things about _you_!"

Frustrated, he popped his fist from his pocket and slammed it against his flattened palm, then let his arms dangle uselessly at his sides in defeat."Why can't you be a challenge, Suneki? Why do you have to let me get to you so easy?"

Without waiting for an answer, Nobisuke sat on the bed beside Suneki. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the springs squawked. Nobisuke sat still and silent for a suffocating moment. He stared at the floor. His gaze flicked from corner to corner. Suneki tried to swallow, but found that the golf ball-sized lump in his throat was too thick.

By the time Nobisuke spoke again, he had calmed. His voice was quiet. Quieter than Suneki had ever heard it. Nobisuke kept his eyes focused on his hands, and flexed the fingers of the fist that had driven into Suneki's face minutes before.

"You can't do this to yourself, Suneki," he said again. He lifted his head, then looked at Suneki. "I won't let you."

 _I'd like to see what that's supposed to mean,_ Suneki thought. In some remote cranny of his mind bubbled a sardonic sort of laughter. _How stupid exactly do you really think I am, Nobisuke? Do you actually think that I'm going to just fall over you and believe you? I know I'm stupid, but I know you, Nobisuke. I know how you are._

Suneki sat as benign as a mushroom on a log. Nobisuke's stare never shifted away. The longer Nobisuke watched, the more it seemed that he weakened. The collected mask of concentration on his face slipped, and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip as though doing so would keep words from pouring out.

Suneki braced himself for a harangue, gritting his teeth and pressing his knees together. But years of preparation couldn't have made him anticipate what Nobisuke did next.

In one swift move, like a hawk swooping to snatch a fish, Nobisuke swung around and swept out his hands to grasp Suneki's. He tugged Suneki upright, drawing him forward until nothing but centimeters separated their faces.

Dumbfounded, Suneki stared into Nobisuke's eyes. Hieroglyphics would have easier to decipher than the way Nobisuke looked at him. Suneki remained limp. He didn't dare move or blink or even breathe. Nobisuke's hands were hot and sweaty around his, and squeezed like nutcrackers.

"Suneki Honekawa––" Nobisuke said, breathing the words––"you are a _good_ kid."

Suneki's eyes widened. His mouth hung open. It was as though the entire world froze over. Nothing remained except Nobisuke in front of him. Nobisuke, squeezing his hands and surveying him with eyes that looked less flat and black like a snake's, and more warm and glowing like hot coals. Suneki had barely enough time to appreciate this before his own eyes brimmed with tears.

"You're a good kid, Suneki," Nobisuke repeated. He swallowed, as though the words needed to be slippery to come at all. His brow furrowed in determination, and his fingers closed more tightly around Suneki's.

"You are _not_ stupid. It doesn't matter what you say about it. You aren't an idiot. You're not a brat. You're smart . . . you're nice and kind and generous and caring and you always listen to teachers and your daddy and you never get in trouble and everybody loves you and––" Nobisuke's voice hung up, and he had to gulp before adding in a miserable whisper, "You're pretty. Everybody loves you, Suneki."

Suneki's mind reeled. Thoughts careened. He felt as though he been doused with a gallon of ice water. His ears rang with the aftermath of those words, but they sounded tinny, distant; unreal. He tried to breathe but found a weight like an anvil crushing the air from his chest. Disbelief made his fingers numb and prickles shoot up like a road of needles down his back. Sparkles of color gathered behind his eyes and made him dizzy.

 _I didn't just hear that. There's no way . . . there's no way I just heard him say all that. All those things . . . those good things . . . about . . . about_ me _––_ Before the thought could limp further, the dyke surrounding Suneki's heart collapsed. And there on the bed, with his hands cold and clammy in Nobisuke's, Suneki began to cry harder than he ever had before.

He sagged forward, his shoulders bouncing with every smothered sob. They sounded like hiccups, smashed behind his tongue, slimy and gooey with snot and tangled apologies. He hissed a breath through his teeth that broke into another sob, and jerked one hand away from Nobisuke to press his forearm over his sticky face. His chest ached. Breaths couldn't fill him. They collided with sobs in the middle of his throat and never reached his lungs. His head pounded as though he were being punched. When Nobisuke moved, Suneki rubbed his arm over his face to hide the splotchy, fiery patches of red.

"I––I––I'm sorry," Suneki choked out. The apology muffled like a slush into his sleeve. "I––I don't know wha––what's wrong wi––with me . . . . " He tightened his shoulders to keep from shaking. Why was he so dizzy? He curled his fingers into Nobisuke's warm hand without knowing why.

Though his swamp of sobs and hiccups, he heard Nobisuke hushing him. It wasn't in the hissing way he did at school; it was a soft, warm rush of a whistle spread through his teeth, the sound a mother would make to soothe a baby.

"Shh. Hush. You stop that," Nobisuke said. A tiny spark of his usual spitfire ignited, then fizzled. "Don't do this, Suneki. Suneki? Listen to me. Don't cry anymore."

He began smoothing his thumbs over the back of Suneki's hand, barely seeming to notice even as he did it, and Suneki nearly folded over. He pressed his fist against the side of his mouth to force back a sob, too afraid that a noise would break what could only be a daydream. He stared through a swirling film of tears at their hands, and the tears rolled down his face in rivers to gather at the underside of his chin before plopping down to his lap. His coat soaked in the splatters, staining from pink to burgundy.

Never had he felt Nobisuke's hands so gentle. He felt them often enough, but always in sharp punches or sly passes. Never had he felt them touch so carefully.

"You don't need to think about it anymore, Suneki," Nobisuke murmured. "Just remember. Remember what I said. About you . . . being sweet." As if startled by his own words, Nobisuke jumped, his thumbs pushing into Suneki's hand hard enough to leave white imprints on his skin.

"I mean it," Nobisuke said, some of his old fierceness returning. "Because I'm not going to say stupid sappy stuff like that all the time. I'm not into girly junk." But the hardness in his face melted slightly when he added, "Just remember that I said it. And maybe––maybe you should believe what you hear only one time. . . instead of what you hear all the time."

With a quiet sigh, Nobisuke leaned forward. His hand uncovered Suneki's, and his fingers brushed up Suneki's arm and over his shoulder before burying deep into the ruffles of hair at the back of his neck. Suneki went rigid as a brick as Nobisuke pushed his head forward and bent closer. His eyes flew wide open just before Nobisuke's mouth touched the corner of his.

Suneki's hands shot up to clutch at Nobisuke's jacket. He gazed as motionless as a statue into Nobisuke's blurred face. Nobisuke's eyes were closed, his scrubby lashes resting in a fan against his cheeks. His eyebrows slanted downward and crunched wrinkles between his eyes.

Suneki gripped Nobisuke's jacket tighter. His fists quivered. Panic mounted in his churning stomach. He wanted to lunge away. He wanted to shove Nobisuke off the bed. He wanted to kick him or roundhouse him or bite off his nose, but all he could do was clutch Nobisuke's jacket to keep from sinking into his sturdy arms. His face burned as though he had been slapped, tingling, far stronger than the dry circle of Nobisuke's lips pressing against his mouth. It was cool and chapped and as void of intent as a lick from a puppy; everything about it was so _unlike_ Nobisuke that Suneki could do nothing but sit. Stunned into silence. Slowly, his hands slid down Nobisuke's jacket, too weak to hang on.

Suneki knew they sat like that for hours. Nobisuke's breathing slowed until it was as deep and heavy as a sleeping bear's. His breath smelled faintly of soy sauce.

Suneki gradually lowered his hands. Nobisuke's fingers rubbed the back of his head in response, and drowsiness spread like a warm fleece blanket over Suneki. His eyelids drooped until Nobisuke faded into a gray smear, and all the aches and tension melted away like snow. He couldn't explain why, but all at once, he was calm. Relaxed.

Nobisuke's fingers wound in Suneki's hair, tightened, and tugged. He eased back. His lips left Suneki's with a quiet, dry smack. Nobisuke's eyes were half-lidded and hazy. His fingers stayed buried in Suneki's hair, stroking up and down his nape, back and forth. Suneki lowered his head, and clouds of sleep piled demurely in his mind.

Everything seemed ridiculous now. Like a bad dream. How had he been so hurt and angry, just minutes earlier? Had he really felt so strongly about it? It all seemed distant now, as though it had happened years ago, and didn't matter anymore.

Sleepily, he leaned forward, and sagged against Nobisuke. His nose pressed into Nobisuke's shirt, and slowly, he rubbed his face against Nobisuke's shoulder. As if pulled by magnets, Nobisuke's arms slid around Suneki's shoulders, and rested his balled fists lightly against Suneki's back to hold him closer. He rested his chin on the top of Suneki's head, folding him deeper into his arms. Suneki listened to his deep, steady breathing and the solid thumping of his heartbeat. He closed his eyes with a little sigh.

He didn't realize that he had fallen into a cozy, warm sleep until a rap at the door jolted him awake. His eyes flew open, and he curled his fingers into Nobisuke's shirt and pressed into him without thinking. A tense moment passed. Suneki looked up, and found Nobisuke staring back down at him. With a gasp, he went rigid, and tore away from Nobisuke as though he were a hot iron. He wrung his hands in disgust, tingling as if ants were swarming under his clothes.

Hinges squeaked. The door eased open a crack, and Papa peered in, squinting. He surveyed the room, and upon seeing no glaring damage, opened the door wider.

"Is everything okay in here?" He looked around with a faint grimace. His gaze came to rest on Suneki, and it was dark and laden with worried concern. Suneki squirmed a bit, but remembered too late that Papa could sense tension like a shark on the trail of blood. He stiffened, but Papa had already noticed.

In brisk strides Papa crossed the room and bent over in front of Suneki. He reached out, cupped Suneki's chin, and tilted up his head to squint into his face.

"Darling, have you been crying?" Instantly, his gaze turned venomous, bitter as black coffee, and swung to face Nobisuke. "What did you do?"

Nobisuke's shoulders rolled in a shrug. A lazy grin tightened up the sides of his mouth. "I didn't do a thing. We were actually getting along pretty good. In fact, we were getting along _really_ good. Weren't we, Suneki?"

Suneki creased the hem of his sleeve, unable to look away from his lap. Papa's hand squished his cheeks, and the wedding band on one finger was hard and cold against his skin. Suneki swallowed.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, we were."

Papa lingered, seeming unconvinced, before finally releasing Suneki. "All right." He glanced at Nobisuke again, warily, then added, "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Are you eating with us, Nobisuke?"

"Sure thing, Mr. H," Nobisuke said, hardly looking at Papa before he left. They were alone again.

Nobisuke scooted forward a bit on the bed, the blankets rolling up in mounds around his knees, and curled one hand over Suneki's ankle. He leaned closer, suddenly intense, as though he needed to tell a heavy secret. When he spoke, the words fell out in a sloppy rush.

"Look, Suneki," he said, shaking Suneki's foot a little, "just remember everything I said, okay? I know it might be weird, thinking of all that, but just––from now on, whenever I or anyone else says anything about you, just remember that––that it might not be true. All the way, I mean. So don't forget it. And if you do," he said, struggling, "I––I'll whale you good."

Suneki didn't doubt that. He rubbed the corner of his sleeve over his face and heaved a deep breath. "I'll remember."

"Good," Nobisuke said. The word hung awkwardly, and Nobisuke looked away. His fingers tightened around Suneki's foot briefly before loosening. He stood so abruptly that the bedsprings cracked like a gunshot, and began to scrub his sweaty hands over his shorts. He paced forward a few steps, then stopped. His arms went straight as broomsticks by his sides.

"I'll, uh . . ." He gulped. "I'll see you later."

Suneki watched him distantly. "Okay."

Nobisuke stood in place for a moment. His back was stiff and hunched. Several times, it seemed that he would answer, but he only clutched his fists in silence. Without a word, he plunged ahead and out the door. His footsteps pounded down the stairs.

Papa called from the kitchen, over the clanging of pots. "Nobisuke? Aren't you staying for supper?"

A very loud and forceful " _No_ ," came in reply just before the door slammed.

The room felt colder somehow. Suneki drew his knees up against his chest, and slowly folded his arms around his legs to hold them close. His eyes felt tight and scratchy from crying, but the soreness in his throat was gone. He sniffed, and on impulse, pressed his cheek against his knees and rubbed until his hair fell over his face.

Nobisuke would be the only one to forget what he had said. Suneki would never dare remind him. Things would be the same as always tomorrow. He would stumble or stutter and Nobisuke would scold just as he always did. But for some reason, in spite, tomorrow didn't seem so dreary anymore.

"Suneki!" Papa's shoes squeaked over the patch of tile at the bottom of the stairs. "Dinner's ready. Come on down, okay?"

Suneki lifted his head. The smells of dinner filtered into his room; cinnamon and spices and the buttery scent of hot oil. Papa had never been the greatest of cooks, but Suneki was suddenly hungry enough to eat even scorched tilapia. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, toed off his boots, and padded toward the door. When he stepped over the threshold, his foot snagged on the strap of his backpack he had dumped there, and he tripped, flailing for balance. The backpack jerked forward with him, and something skittered from the pocket.

Suneki struggled to disentangle himself. When he shook off the strap, he noticed the crumpled up piece of paper that lay in the middle of the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, and without thinking, unfolded it and rubbed a few wrinkles out. He looked at it for a long time.

The writing, though smudged, was still legible. It was every bit as angry as it had been earlier. But strangely, Suneki felt a caustic little tickle of pleasure in his stomach.

 _You were right, Nobisuke,_ he thought. A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. _You were right_. _But I feel . . ._

Relieved? Comforted? Liberated?

_Better._

That was it. Better.

He crushed the paper in his fist.


End file.
